


sea wives

by whalersandsailors



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: (kinda), Blow Jobs, Come Swallowing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26620843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: The Marines are not Navy men. They must set an example.(And then Tozer didn't.)
Relationships: Thomas Armitage/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Comments: 17
Kudos: 50





	sea wives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [attheborder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/gifts).



He wrinkles his nose at the stench of bilgewater. Were it not for the cloying salt in the air thick enough that tiny granules cling to his eyebrows, Tozer might imagine that he is following a doxy down a narrow alley where rubbish and piss mix together in an aroma unique to the corners of Portsmouth’s dockyards. He supposes there is not much difference following a steward into the black belly of a ship where, much like a doxy hefting her threadbare skirts over her hips, the steward will either lower his knees or his trousers to the damp floor.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Tozer won’t have to scrape through the lint of his pocket for a pence to toss the lad after. He studies the back of the steward’s head; this boy he hardly knows by face and certainly not by name.

Tozer has seen him lingering by the stove whenever he or another Marine comes down from a watch. He is always eager to offer them a drink to warm themselves, his head tilted as he hangs on their every last word.

Some of the privates put too much stock in the steward’s attention, joking among themselves what they would like to do with a mouth and arse like his. Tozer quickly put an end to such talk, harshly scolding the men. Some were embarrassed by his reprimand, but others such as Daly hotly argued in a whisper that _there ain’t nothing wrong with a sea wife._ To which Tozer coolly reminded him that they weren’t Navy men. They were Marines, and they had an example to set.

Despite Tozer’s misgivings, the steward continued to seek his company, and not a half hour ago, he caught Tozer alone. He asked for assistance in the orlop with some heavy lifting, his eyes politely trained on his feet. Tozer could think of no excuse to refuse him. Were Tozer a better man, he would have brought along another Marine, someone levelheaded like Heather or Hedges. But in a moment of weakness, he understood the steward’s meaning and followed him down the hatch.

Nothing has touched his prick save the lonely grip of his hand since they left port, and as he watches where the steward’s trousers cling to his backside, Tozer’s thoughts go wild with want. He wonders if the lad is willing to be fucked or if he intends to do nothing but replace Tozer’s hand with his own. Either idea makes Tozer’s head dizzy from far more than the orlop’s lack of fresh air.

The jingle of keys brings him back to the present, and he scoffs.

“Are we to have a private room then?” he asks, rather unkindly. “Careful. I’m not used to such special treatment.”

The steward’s face is burning, but he doesn’t answer. Tozer follows him into the storeroom, ducking his head beneath the low beam of the door. The steward wedges a piece of wood against the door to keep it shut.

“We shouldn’t be bothered here,” he says, meeting Tozer’s eye, “but we’ll need to be quick about it.”

Tozer shrugs and begins undoing his trousers. The steward palms himself, his mouth hanging open. He kneels before Tozer, placing the lantern at his side and casting his face into shadow. The first swipe of his tongue surprises Tozer, and he hisses.

The steward pulls back immediately.

“Keep going,” Tozer urges, tangling his hand into the steward’s thick hair.

The steward nods, the back of his head bobbing beneath Tozer’s palm. He continues dragging his tongue around Tozer’s stones. He licks him to full hardness, his hand stroking the length of him while he traces the underside of Tozer’s cock with his mouth, ending with a long kiss on the tip.

It’s indecent, the worshipful way in which the steward takes Tozer’s cock into his mouth. His jaw is relaxed and the pressure of his tongue soft against him as he pulls his head back, pushing forward again in a fluid motion.

Tozer keeps his chin up, eyes open. The lanternlight casts their shadows as odd caricatures on the walls of the storage room. Beneath the shadows, bottles and tins line the shelfs, shifting with the subtle rise and fall of the ocean. The wood of the ship groans, masking Tozer’s pants and the scuff of the steward’s shoes as he adjusts his stance.

When Tozer’s vision darkens, he tightens his hold in the steward’s hair. His thighs clench as he gives short, neat thrusts into his mouth. Not a word of complaint from the steward but a distant moan. Tozer makes the mistake of looking down. A quarter of the steward’s face is illuminated, and Tozer can see the blissful expression on his face as he moves his head back and forth on Tozer’s cock; his eyes closed in concentration while a stray tear reflects the light when it slides down his cheek. He is higher on his knees, and Tozer can see the outline of his prick hanging between his legs where he works himself with the same steady rhythm he gives Tozer.

The heat of the steward’s mouth drives Tozer to distraction, and his peak is sudden and unexpected. His knees wobble, and he shoves his fist against his mouth to keep himself from shouting. He gives no word of warning to the steward, but he grabs both of Tozer’s thighs tight, pressing his nose against the coils of hair above his cock. He swallows him down with a quiet moan, nuzzling his nose against him.

The steward has barely sat back when Tozer stuffs himself into his drawers and rights his trousers. He watches the steward from the corner of his eye. The lad stands, turning his back to Tozer as he fixes his own clothes. Tozer wonders if he came at all.

“I’ll go up first,” Tozer says, all business. “So no one sees us together.”

The steward looks at him, eyes widening a fraction. He visibly bites the inside of his cheek before he looks away with a nod.

A _yeah_ slips from him as he bends to pick up the lantern. He removes the wedge from the door. Their chests brush together when Tozer squeezes beside him. He pauses for a second, unsure why he is so compelled, but he brushes his knuckles against the underside of the steward’s chin, fixing his gaze on some tin beyond his shoulder. Their eyes meet for a second, and Tozer’s thoughts reel, worrying with the fact that he can’t remember if the steward was Gibson or Armitage or a John or a Thomas or a James, and that he knows more how his mouth feels than his voice sounds.

He clears his throat and nods, heading toward the pitch black passageway and far away from the steward’s inscrutable eyes and tempting mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> (spins wheel) what rare pair shall i care about today??
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://whalersandsailors.tumblr.com)


End file.
